


Dirty Little Secrets Always Come Out

by AamiraTheSlitheen (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Scandal (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Hannibal and Alana are married but not for long, Multi, lawyer!au, please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2065506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AamiraTheSlitheen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after moving to Washington DC, Will Graham has completed a law degree and ended up as one of Pope & Associates' most brilliant and versatile lawyers. Yet when he is personally asked to deal with the Hobbs' case in Minnesota, Will has to face old demons - one of them being his old mentor and ex-lover, Hannibal Lecter.</p><p>You don't need to necessarily know anything concerning Scandal to read this story. Rating may change.</p><p>NB: IS CURRENTLY ON HIATUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Secrets Always Come Out

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Scandal or Hannibal.
> 
> So here it is, my first fan fiction on this website. Please bear with me: this chapter wasn't beta-read and English isn't my first language - it is fairly limited, compared to the one other authors in the fandom use.
> 
> The first chapter is mostly a prologue, an introduction to get you into the Scandal universe. The rest will come after. Any type of criticism is welcome :)

It isn’t uncommon for people to question Will Graham’s position as a lawyer for Pope & Associates.

 

It’s not because he’s being misjudged according to his qualifications. Successfully passing the bar could be contemplated as an exploit to anyone, whether he be confident enough to consider a career in law, politics or none of the above. On the other hand, getting employed at Pope & Associates was many things if not an exploit. The term itself was an understatement. In fact, being hired for a position at Pope & Associates was more of an honour than anything else. Ever since its creation, more than three years from now, Pope & Associates had been regarded as one of the best – if not the best – law firms in Washington DC, the launch of the corporation having gained an almost instantaneous popularity amongst democrats and republicans alike all over the United States of America. It did help that its founder, Olivia Carolyn Pope, was a charismatic young woman with exclusive contacts and tight connections to the White House, having officiated as President Grant’s campaign manager and later Communications Manager. The reasons for her resignation still remained unknown up to this day, yet there had been no further questioning at the time. Olivia Pope was a charismatic and bright young woman with an outstanding law career that spoke for itself, and her fellow peers knew that whatever had guided her judgment had to be justified. Other than that, her subordinates operating at Pope & Associates were the picture perfect of efficiency: lawyers, hackers, Private Investigators and the occasional consultant recruited from all over America; brilliant men and women clad in suits whether it be sunny or rainy, witty minds managing their clients’ business both in the dark and in front of the media. Few were the ones aware of their rather unorthodox ways of working, and many were the ones – mostly affiliated with the media – curious of their whereabouts and procedures. It was certainly not a 100% legal. But either way, it was efficient. Olivia Pope’s “Gladiators in Suits”, as they came to be known, worked odd ways, and they did it well.

 

Will Graham was no exception. He had accomplished quite a feat by picking a law career after years supposedly wasted in the study of criminal behaviour and psychology, getting promoted as the first of his class three years after the beginning of his license; and he had earned himself the respect of all by getting an office at Pope & Associates.

 

Will's a lawyer, all right. And a good one with that. He has a certificate to prove it, a piece of printed paper with delicate golden letters embossed into it - as useless as they are, to be honest, fairly ugly - certifying his success in graduating first of his class at Stanford, three years after obtaining his degree in general law. He knows practically the whole Constitution of The United States of America off by heart. He's acquired experience in his domain during holidays sacrificed and spent in training at some of Washington DC's best law firms - one of them being Pope & Associates, or OPA as he'd referred to. He'd dealt with lots of clients and crises before.

 

At first sight though, he doesn't look fit enough to fill the shoes of a law representative, even a baby lawyer. You won't need a shrink to see that. The man lacks self-confidence and social skills, two elementals of the jobs. As much as his boss tries, Will finds himself unable to make clear eye contact with others, including colleagues from the bureau. Hel, he can't even hold a decent conversation with anyone without feeling the urge to run away, escape and crawl into a hole. The only people with whom he's been able to interact - "socialize" is too strong a word - with, so far, had to be his dog, Winston and the other guy from the bureau, Huck Finn. It wasn't his real name, obviously, but it didn't pose a problem to the Southern man. The other one had to be the only person not wearing a suit in the office, always showing up in shirt or plaid, jeans and sneakers; he also happened to be as out of place at the law firm as he was good at hacking into other people's bank accounts, phones and computers all over the globe. Like Will, Huck wasn't much of a social butterfly, but he was good conversation when he actually talked, and the only person he managed to understand in the whole damn world. There were some dark corners in Huck's mind, ones he didn't take pleasure in watching unfold before him whenever he watched his friend business partner; therefore, he made sure to never press him concerning the subject, and Huck did likewise.

 

People distrust his qualifications because of his awkwardness at being a lawyer. But then, few people understand his true role behind the closed doors of the private office. Because Will Graham is no ordinary lawyer.

 

Will Graham is an empath.

 

According to the dictionary, an empath is "a person gifted with the ability to feel the emotions of others despite the fact that they themselves are not going through the same situation". The meaning is loose, truly, painfully neutral. Empathy is, after all, so much more, yet so little in the end. A big word for his co-workers, a rather simplistic one that ensures him a better-than-average pay check for a lawyer. For in the end, he's more of an empath than a lawyer.

 

This job is fairly easy; at least that's his opinion. With every case come new clients, whom Olivia carefully leads to their conference table or to the closest couch. They spend some time listening to the man or woman's story, retire behind a glass door to vote - of course, vote is a big word; it has been a long time since the last time they'd truly voted. The firm accepts the case; Olivia assigns each person his or her task. Will's is usually the same: look up into their client's identity and background history. That is mostly child's play, the fairly basic and internal part of his work. Yet he doesn't start to act out before the coffee break.

 

Tradition is to welcome the client with a drink or a treat of any kind, no matter who the person is. The mission had been mostly Quinn's these last days, as the brunette was the newest addition to the team. She still had some complications with the coffee machine, though; therefore it was also part of Will's mission to help. He didn't mind. He would grab a mug or a Styrofoam cup, brew some fresh coffee or infuse tea, heat up a pastry, get it all on a porcelain plate and walk back to the conference room with it. There, he would meet back with the client, the corners of his mouth tucked into a small, reassuring smile. This was, after all, the most important step of his mission. Put on a mask, be sociable, play the nice lawyer-slash-mother-hen who took care of everything and anything. As bad as he was at eye-contact, Will was a good actor. Thankfully, most clients were too flustered or embarrassed by their own presence in the room to look him in the eye. Anyhow, he always put on a show, but not too much so to not intimidate. And, last but not least, he watched.

 

He sits by the client's side, eventually engages into small talk, but he mostly watches. So far, he's already been taking in numerous details, from the moment the client has entered the room to now. From the beginning of an interview, he can draw an instantaneous profile of their new client. Nationality; approximate age, height and weight; marital status; possible police records; mental personality sheet; thoughts being processed at the moment; motive for coming to see them; pay check. Will doesn't stop there, of course. The interview and private conversation are simply confirmation. All he has to do is read them some more -it tells him so much: who is cheating with who, who is lying, who has murdered someone, who is sick, who has been kidnapped... It is necessary, no matter how many times Olivia tells him that it is useless - Will is, after all, practically almost always right.

 

This fact applies itself both to his work and to his everyday life. From the day he's been in DC, moving his few remaining possessions from his home in Wolf Trap, Virginia to his brand new apartment in the suburbs, he's gotten enough information on his fellow neighbours to know all their secrets. The receptionist frequently had money problems and troubles in paying his bills; one of his neighbours, an aging accountant, is a divorcee who sees her kids twice in a month and regularly tries to get into his pants; the janitor is a black man who has only accepted the job so he could keep an eye on his estranged child, a businessman who resided a level above Will's apartment and had lived 28 years convinced that his real father died in a car accident. It's not just the neighbours and the personnel at the residence. Anyone he meets when leaving his apartment could have his ass handed to him were Will to dare to tell the person about his every secret. That, of course, isn't an option. He has enough eye contact to fake while at work, he doesn't need to mess with innocent people's lives too. Which is why he barely goes out of his home. He only leaves if it is one of his days off, the kind he treasures and thinks about for days, which he spends preparing his fishing gear - he never gets tired of fixing his lures and creating new ones. Or, if it is a Sunday morning. He treasures them too, in his own personal way. In his mind, it is the only day he can get to be normal.

 

Or at least pretend to.

 

Like most people, he doesn't work on Sundays. This means, for most people, that they can spend some more time in bed before hopping in the shower. The extra hour Will spends in bed is only there to remind himself that he is not most people. After all, they don't lie under silk sheets too uncomfortable or expensive for their liking, denying the previous night's nightmares that have haunting them for quite a while now. Routine, in the end, doesn't change much in six years. Minutes were spent reminding himself of the essential: _"My name is Will Graham. It is nine o'clock in the morning. I am inside of my apartment in Washington DC."_ Then, with a slight hesitation that quickly died out: _"I am safe."_

 

This step done, he slowly lifts himself from the bed and takes a nice hot shower. He dries himself and dresses, heads to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for both him and his dog, Winston. The labrador instantly goes to him, rubbing himself against his master's legs. The gesture makes Will smile. He had found him as a stray, wandering in the metro during his first year of law in DC. Ever since, he had taken him in with the approval of the residence's staff - yet he supposes that approval or not, he would have kept Winston anyway. Hell, if it weren't for the size of the apartment, he would have taken in at least three more strays. He didn't spend much, and his lawyer salary was more than apt to fold itself to his dog's needs. He drops a handful of dog biscuits in Winston's bowl, and goes to brew some coffee. A cup cools slowly on his side while he cooks some bacon and eggs with toast - it isn't much, but it is enough. He takes his time to eat, listening distractedly to the radio while striking his dog behind the ears. He never pays much attention though. When he is done, he washes the plates and goes back into his room to change. Sundays are the days he takes out Winston for a walk and, by the same occasion, breathes some fresh air. Avoiding people on a regular basis doesn't mean that he has to deprive himself of these normal moments other humans treasure so much.

 

He has already attached the leash around Winston's collar. Will grabs his keys, whistles a little, and packs plastic bags in a miniature bag attached to his waist. He already has a small park in mind where he could take Winston. While turning his key in the door he wonders about its calmness on Sundays, the pond where ducks and catfishes swim - and often end up being chased by Winston - , the recreational area where mothers bring their kids after school. He's ready to expect it all when he will arrive there.

 

What he doesn't expect is his boss standing behind his door when he opens it, white handbag in a hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

***

There is so much you can tell, from the look on somebody's face. Will could let his mind focus completely on his boss, but he doesn't take the risk. Olivia Pope likes her personal life to remain a private matter, so there is absolutely no need to get one of her best and oldest employees - and, to a certain extent, friend - involved in it. Unfortunately, Will knows too much. On a more positive outline, he says nothing of what he knows.

 

As used as he was to Olivia's presence in his life, he still couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes. Five years of her life last less than five minutes in his mind, years filled with both good and bad memories, some of them mirroring more recent ones. Will doesn't need a constant reminder that his boss is still screwing Fitzgerald "Fitz" Thomas Grant the Third of the name, actual President of the United States of America. It was bad enough that he was married and the father of three children, it didn't need to get more complicated with irregular make-out sessions in a random closet whenever they met.

 

Today, though, she wasn't here to talk about her private problems with the President.

 

Whatever it was she wanted with him, Will knew she's have it. No matter how much he argued when exposed to certain conflictualities, he always knew the outcome. While the whole of Olivia Poe & Associates was a team, Olivia still had the white hat perched on her head. As she was the boss, she got to make the decisions.

Right now was no exception to the rule. She stood firmly on her tall heels, back arched to make her petite frame look bigger, one hand resting on her hip while straddling a white leather bag that cost probably more than Will's monthly salary, chin raised high enough to make eye contact with Will.

 

He refuses to make eye contact with her, his blue-green eyes cast down to the red lounge, until he decides to take a peek.

 

Their eyes meet in a fleeting eye contact. In a few seconds Will reads in Olivia’s mind like an open book.

 

_I want to both look and sound friendly, which is why I brought with me the best bottle of wine I could think of and smile my best smile. It is the one I use for my friends, for the rare occasions, such as the ones when I'm with -_

_Back to the topic. I'm not here for fun, but for business. I knock at the door with the firm intention of making sure he lets me in. It is quite literal, as it is figurative. I need to be inside, after all, to invade his mind palace and let myself in his mind. I do it not with the intention of hurting him, for I believe that my decisions will bring him what he truly needs._

_I carry a folder in my white leather bag. It is a case, but one which I have no intention to hand over for the whole world to see. For not only is it a case suited for him, it is also the case that was specifically designed for him. This was not intentional, nor planned by any of the parties involved, but I believe that he is the only one capable of handling it._

 

Will snaps back into his mind, shaking a little as if he'd stumbled straight from the episode. His eyes return to the ground, suddenly interested by the carpet decorating the lounge. When he looks up again, Olivia's face hasn't changed. There is only the slightest hint in her eyes that she's aware of what he's done. Her trademark smile never leaves her face.

 

There is, he realizes, no room for any argument. Out of witty comeback, Will only mumbles: "It's Sunday."

 

The comment only makes Olivia smirk. "It is," she replies, already taking a step forward to get inside. Will pulls his arms against the door frame, blocking her way.

 

"No, no, you don't get it," he says, looking for a spot on her cheek to focus on. It is hard to do, what with Olivia's flawless chocolate skin. He sighs, lifts his gaze just enough to make it seems like he's looking at her in the eye. "It's Sunday, Olivia. Only day of the damn week when I can be free and not be burdened by other people, and walk Winston". He nudges Winston, who tugs on his leash slightly. "It's Sunday."

 

His boss doesn't seem the least phased by his rather lame excuse. "Yes, I know that, you already told me, say, 2 or 3 times already."

 

She somehow finds her way inside his apartment, and he doesn't fight back. Will lets out a defeated sigh, his shoulders drop. He closes the door, tugging at the same time on Winston's leash so he won't get too close to Olivia. The dark-skinned woman isn't an animal lover, but she'd gone as far as convincing the residence personnel to let him keep a dog. He owed her that, amongst other things he also had to pay back - essentially to her.

 

Instead, he eyes the bottle in her hand. He doesn't quite catch the name, and won't bother to look for his glasses. All he knows from the looks of the green bottle is that it is aged, probably white wine, and definitely expensive. Living in Washington DC made him self-conscious of the price of everything these days.

 

"Isn't it a little too early for wine, Liv? It's like, 9 AM."

 

She didn't care, though. God knew Liv gave a damn about very little concerning her alimentary habits. Most of her food consisted of the takeout china they got next to the office and of wine.

 

"Oh, as far as I know, it's never too early for wine, Willy." She smirked. Damn that smirk, he thought, slumping on one of the sofas of the living room. If it didn't suit her so well, he'd probably have her out of his house by now. It reminded him of the old days, back when they both were law students, she nearing her last year and him only starting. Hadn't he been so awkward, he might have asked her out on a date. But even back then, he still had him in mind...

 

He leaned back against his seat, watching her stroll in the kitchen to retrieve the set of wine glasses she'd once gotten him for Christmas. He'd mostly used it to drink his liquor or whisky, to his shame. She went to sit down on the couch, facing him as she poured wine in both their glasses. Winston watched with canine curiosity, his head on Will's lap. Distractedly, Will scratched him behind the ears with one hand. The other handled the glass, and Olivia mirrored the motion. They clinked their glasses together. Will forced himself to smile back at Olivia, yet he feared it betrayed his nervousness. Olivia still had this enigmatic little grin of hers. She kept her eyes on him as she sipped her wine, taking her time the way any wine connoisseur would. He kept his eyes, drinking in the sweet drink the way one would drink water.

 

The uncomfortable silence that settled between them for a moment faded away when Olivia put her glass back on the coffee table.

 

She cleared her throat, the smile disappearing from her face. There she is, Will thought, glass in hand, the Olivia Pope I know and love. Her serious mode was turned on this moment.

 

"I guess," she started, “that you know the reason why I'm here".

 

Will shook his head. "Not really," he admitted. "I only know that I might have to say no."

 

Olivia's features softened slightly. "This is a possibility that I have no desire to explore, Will. You're the only one I want on this."

 

"Why?" he asked, lifting his head to let his eyes rest on her lips. There was something up with this new case he knew nothing of, and he didn't like it. Fear of the unknown, he'd once been told, was one of a human's most instinctive reaction. He didn't even appreciate the reminder.

 

Olivia reached for her bag; Will's eyes followed her hands as she reached for a folder and took it out. The cover, canary yellow, gave no hints related to its content. As she placed it on the coffee table, Olivia started: "Do you know anyone going by the name of Alana -”

 

"No." The response was fast, immediate, like a whip slashing at thin air. The name alone was enough to make him refuse. Alana, as far as he knew, was a common name in the United States. There could have been anyone else going by that name in Baltimore, but he brushed this possibility aside.

 

“- Bloom-Lecter from Baltimore, Maryland?" she continued, not the least bit phased by his interruption. She lifted her chin up to set her eyes on him; he ducked his head down in response. Olivia watched him silently, her hawk-like gaze studying him intently. After a moment, she enquired: "I will take it as a "yes". But just in case - she's one of the top therapists in Baltimore. Quite the looker; she's also happens to be a consultant for the FBI, and has been working on a regular basis with the BSU, which is -”

 

"The Behavioural Sciences Unit at the FBI, I already know that, Liv."

 

She raised an elegant eyebrow at him. "Then you are also aware that she is a teacher at the FBI Academy, married with no kids, is the spouse of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist - "

 

"Yes, yes, and yes again, Liv. Look, just stick to the case, will you?" Will waves his hand impatiently. He hates it when she does that, toying with his mind and taking time to build climax.

 

The woman facing him sighs, but reluctantly accepts. "Listen, she is part of the case, she personally asked me to put you on this."

 

She what? Will's eyes narrowed. Alana couldn't have possibly been aware of his current location. The last time they had talked, it had been about 5 years ago. Ever since, they hadn't had any contact with each other. He'd made sure to leave it all behind, to wipe away any trace of his past. So how could she have..."How come?" he muttered, despising the way his tone dropped slightly.

 

"Well, she knows you. After all, you used to be one of her students, weren't you? And one of the best, may I add..." He had all her attention now, he understood, her elbows propped on her knees, her body leaning forward to get a better look at him.

 

Will sighed. "Just, tell me what's up with that case already."

 

She rolled her head at his impatience, and merely shrugged. "Whatever you say...anyway this is about the recent murders in Minnesota, you might have heard of it. They just caught the man, a father who killed 6 girls who looked just like his own daughter - the Minnesota Shrike. They got to him in time to keep him from slitting his daughter's throat. Mom's dead, no other relatives, the Lecters have taken her under their wing. They should be signing up the papers stating they are now her legal guardians..."

 

"Which leads me to ask again, what's up with it?"

 

She huffed. “What’s up, as you say, is that the FBI suspects that the daughter was in with her father in this case. Which is why Dr Bloom called. She wants you to defend the girl."

 

Will was about to speak again, but Olivia beat him up to it. "I've already had it all arranged for you. You're leaving this afternoon for Baltimore. There is a hotel room waiting for you not too far from the Lecter household, where you will stay for as long as necessary. I've estimated that it shouldn't take you more than two weeks to get everything settled, but knowing you it should take about a week to handle it. You do what you want with the rest until I call you. Any questions?"

 

She'd stood up to elaborate on the modus operanti, while he'd chosen to stay where he was. From where she was, Will could tell she knew that he wanted to ask questions. Lots of them. A hundred, a thousand questions left unanswered went through his mind. Why me? Why decide to take the case all of a sudden? What does this have to do with me? Why are you sending me back to that place? Why do you want me to see him again -

 

Will shook his head. No, he thought, the word echoing inside his head, reciting itself like a mantra. This is over; this was over a long time ago. He wouldn't let a year's events resurface after so much time. He wouldn't.

 

He unfolded his fists from his lap, pressed his palms against the sides of his face. They had turned cold dspite the warm atmosphere. "I can't say no, can I?" he muttered against his hands.

 

Olivia shook her head in reply, her arms folded. "No, you can't."

 

Will's palms went to his lap again, Winston nuzzled them. He lifted his head up, finally bringing himself to meet her gaze.

 

"Fine, I'm in. I'll handle it."

 

She smirked in response.

 

Oh, if only she knew...


End file.
